Knowing they would be spending the night on the air mattress in the back of Will’s pickup, they had gone driving in search of a scenic, private parking spot. The night was hot. Samantha had longingly wished for a dip in a swimming pool. Then there was the pool-shaped like a peanut, shimmering under the moonlight behind a dark, low-built brick house.

“We’ll get caught,” she whispered, barely able to contain her excitement. The high of becoming Mrs. Will Rafferty made her dizzy. The prospect of doing something forbidden compounded the sensation.

Giggling and shushing each other under their breath, they stripped their clothes off in the shadows along the garage and slipped carefully into the cool water. After their swim they lay in the back of the truck and named the stars and made slow, sweet love.

Tears slipped over Samantha’s lashes and rolled down her cheeks as she brought herself back to the present. Loss clenched inside her like a fist. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she be what he needed? Why couldn’t he love her as much as she loved him?

She still loved him. The knowledge didn’t make her feel anything but despair. She loved a man who didn’t want her, and had given herself to a man she didn’t love. There was a word for that, but she couldn’t think what it was. Bryce would know, she thought, moving away from the window, but she couldn’t ask him.

Her thoughts chased each other around in her brain until she wanted to shake them all out. What should she do, what should she say to Bryce? Did she go on as a hopeless, stupid kid, waiting for Will to come back to her, or did she take that step into a new world as an adult and start working on a new life?

The room seemed to press in on her. The questions and recriminations swirled faster inside her head. Careful not to make any noise, she slipped out into the hall and crept downstairs and out the French doors to the terrace. She avoided looking at the pool, going instead to the low stone wall that edged the area, where she climbed up and swung her legs over.

Below her, the ground fell away in a steep, rock-strewn, tree-studded slope, down and down to the valley, where fog crept off the creek and seeped outward. The air was cool and thick with damp, and Samantha shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, glad for the distraction. Far to the west she could make out the dark ridge of the next range, the snow on the peaks like a strip of white lace in the thin moonlight.

She sat there for a long time. Not thinking. Not deciding. Just sitting and absorbing the still of the wilderness. The sensation of being watched crept up on her from behind slowly, touching like fingertips between her shoulder blades. Then the fingers trailed lightly up her spine to the base of her neck, and she twisted around on the wall so quickly that she nearly slipped off.

There was no one on the terrace. The chairs were empty. The lounges where Uma and Fabian had sunned themselves had been stripped of their beach towels and lined neatly three feet back from the pool. A soft breeze toyed with the umbrellas tilted above the tables, but nothing else moved. No eyes glowed in the night. She looked up at the house, expecting to see someone staring out at her from one of the windows. But the windows were vacant.

Must have imagined it. Probably wanted it to be Will. Stupid kid. He’s never coming back to you. You shouldn’t want him to.

She slipped off the wall and let herself out through a side gate, thinking she would walk down to the stables, but the sensation followed her, hovered around her shoulders like a swarm of gnats. Up in the towering pines that grew thick around the edge of the grounds, a barred owl let out a series of low, rhythmic hoots.

The sound skimmed over her flesh like a clammy hand. Superstitions from childhood floated up from the depths of her mind. Owls were bad luck, bringers of omens, the familiars of evil spirits. Her Cheyenne grandfather, whom she remembered only as a stooped, gnarled man with a face like tree bark and the sour stink of liquor on his breath, had told her and her brother Mike that owls brought news of death.

Silly. Why should she think of death? But the night seemed suddenly too still around her, and the air seemed suddenly too thick to breathe. The stables loomed dark too far down the path and the trees closed in all around. Fear rose like a scream up the back of her throat. For a moment she hesitated, hovered between logic and instinct. Then everything seemed to happen at once and in super-slow motion.

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows as Samantha wheeled back toward the house. A figure without features, without gender, clad in black with a mask and gloves. The sight drove terror into her chest like the blade of a knife. Samantha opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was caught and snuffed out as a black bag descended over her face and was pulled tight by a drawstring around her throat. She lashed out wildly with her fists, with her feet, but the sudden and total darkness robbed her of her equilibrium and she staggered and fell.

Crushed rock bit into her palms and elbows and knees as she hit the ground. She scrambled to stand, but her assailant beat her back down with something that felt like a baseball bat. The blows landed over and over on her back, on her sides, on her arms. She tried frantically to crawl out of the path of the club, but the ground sloped sharply down and she fell and skidded face first, the rocks tearing at her cheek and chin through the rough fabric of the hood.

Questions pulsed like a strobe light through her brain as she lay there. Who? Why? What would become of her? Would anybody care? Tears pressed like fists behind her eyes and leaked out to soak into the hood. She wanted to sob, to wail out the pain and the terror that was choking her, but the hood was suffocating her and it was all she could do to draw in enough air to breathe.

The drawstring tightened around her throat, pulling her head up, hanging her. Driven by self-preservation, Samantha clawed at the hood. She got her feet back under her and surged upward, tearing at the string with one hand, lashing out at her attacker with the other. The heel of her hand connected with bone and she heard a grunt of pain and surprise.

Then she was trying to run and pull the hood off all at once, and the world, the night, tilted crazily around her, everything a blur of black and white. Her legs pumped, her arms swung wildly, but she seemed to go nowhere. As in a nightmare, the house looked farther and farther away. Her heart beat wildly, drowning out everything but the scrape of boots on gravel behind her.

She glanced back over her shoulder just as the bat swung forward. The pain was a brilliant orange and red explosion inside her head. Then everything went black, as if the plug had been pulled, and the world ceased to exist as the barred owl called.